Graduation

When John died, we had spent a couple of years managing his heart challenges, which meant he had been through innumerable doctor’s appointments and several hospitalizations. I was usually there with him, especially during his hospital stays. When he met new medical professionals, they often started off with a similar question. “What are your health goals?” John usually chuckled and gave the same answer, “I want to see my granddaughter graduate from high school.” The doctors’ responses morphed during that last year. They started out with some form of, “Then let’s get you out of here, so you can get back to your life,” and ended up with a question. “How old is your granddaughter?” Patience was twelve that year.

And now she truly is getting ready to graduate from high school; and John never made it this far. In fact, he missed it by almost six years. I’ve known for a long time that when her graduation came close, his unachieved goal was going to come back to haunt me. A poor choice of words, perhaps, but not totally inappropriate, either. He so wanted to see this day, and I so wish he had been able to.

But that’s not the way our story goes; it looks different than we thought it would, and it’s now up to me to write the next chapters. His plan for moving forward was all about the kids, but his unmet goal is not haunting me as I thought it would. I do, indeed, lament the fact that he is not here, but I also want to celebrate the fact that he got as far as he did – that the kids and grandkids remember and love him – and that I’m still here to represent both of us and witness everything they do. His goal was to see as much of their future as he could, and it is indicative of how much he loved them.

It wasn’t just Patience he wanted to see launch into adulthood, it was all three of them. She is the oldest, though, so she will always be the trailblazer. During his last summer, she was a twelve-year-old sixth grader who was getting ready to start seventh grade in the fall. It was apparent she was growing up, and – yes – headed for high school and graduation. She was, all of a sudden, one of the big kids. Serenity was in second grade, an eight-year-old who was still not embarrassed to have John bring her lunch at school and stay to eat with her, posing for selfies before she ran out to recess. Courage was still a pre-schooler who would start kindergarten that fall.

Thinking of graduation for the younger two was too far off to feel realistic yet, but Patience was already a third of the way through middle school, and was starting to make some of her own choices, like which electives she wanted to take. She was almost a teenager and it was easier to envision that she was on her way to high school. John was looking forward to all of that big-kid stuff; watching games, attending concerts, teasing her about boyfriends, seeing her dressed up for dances, and watching her walk down the aisle in a cap and gown.  But he ran out of time, and I’m so sorry he had to miss it all.

Being Papa was the greatest joy John had in life. We married when Gabe was fifteen and Amber was ten. He thought he was too old to add any more kids to our family, so he embraced the ones I already had with his whole heart. He never once called Gabe and Amber his step-children. They were always just his kids. But he missed out on the sweet baby stage, so when Patience came along he relished being there from the very beginning. He bought a front carrier so he could take her on walks around the neighborhood and show her off to everyone he saw. He got on the floor and played with her, giggling louder than she did when she tried to crawl away before he could pull her back. Gabe and Stefanie both had crazy work schedules until after Serenity was born, so we often had Patience (and later both of them) for weekend overnights. From the time Patience was teeny, John was willing to get up in the middle of the night, change diapers, handle bath time (which often turned out to be more splash than bathe), and just generally take part in everything.

The quintessential moment that illustrates how John felt about Patience and eventually the other two as well, came when she was five months old. He was spending a quiet moment with her, holding her as he protectively tucked her blanket in tighter around her. A big person and a tiny person, enjoying their time together. As he looked at her sweet little face, I heard him whisper, “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.” His words were meant for only her, but I was privileged to catch the moment and recognize all the emotion that came with it. It is a feeling every parent has had, that magic moment when you realize you really had never known what love was until this little being came into existence. John had to wait until he had a grandchild to feel it, but there it was – pure love. To this day, my heart skips a beat when I remember that moment. The memory is protected in the deepest part of my heart. He loved her. He loved them, and he wanted to see it all through with them, but his time was cut short.

So, now that I have written, in black and white, the words that have been burning a hole in my emotions, and that have partially composed themselves in my subconscious a thousand times over the last six years, I am going to leave it here and go forward into this season of graduation with only joy in my heart. I get to see Patience graduate! She has progressed through pre-school, elementary, middle, and high school, and has shown (in a myriad of ways) that she is her own person, with her own thoughts, goals, and capabilities. This introvert keeps fooling us all and has stepped up to challenges I never thought she would take on. She played the cello in the orchestras throughout middle and high school. She took so many college classes while she was going to high school that she almost has her Associate of Arts degree. She was just recognized as a ten-season athlete and an honor student, and has probably spent as much time at practices and games as she has in class or with homework over her four-year high school career. She wears her letter jacket as proudly as she’ll wear her academic honor cords as she marches in to the stadium on Tuesday. She has been supported throughout by her family who paid for lessons, talked her into signing up for things, drove her around for whatever and then some, and attended her games and concerts. John would have loved it as much as I have, but the fact that he was not given that gift makes me all the more aware of how lucky I am that I was.

Here’s to our Patience Anne. She is loved abundantly and has SO many reasons to be proud of who she is and what she has accomplished. I will be cheering her on and fighting back tears in real life. John will be there in spirit as she shrugs herself into her purple and gold gown and tries to position her cap so that it doesn’t completely ruin her hair. He’ll be there as she lines up with the rest of her classmates, waits for the music to begin, and gets the signal to start from whatever administrator is assigned to make sure the line keeps moving. He will be there with her as she moves her tassle with the little gold charm that says ‘2023’ from the right side to the left. Papa will be with her always, because, as he told her long ago, he never loved anyone as much as he loved her.

John wanted to see Patience graduate from high school. He didn’t get to, but I do – and I’ll be there for both of us.